


Trouble Finds You

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I don't know what this is guys, Oral Sex, Past Chris Argent/Melissa McCall, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She'd been awake for four days.When they'd set out, Chris had told her it would only be one and a half days, teased her, called her a baby, said that she had no reason to complain when he was the one doing all of the driving.She didn't think Beacon Hills would be so bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has no set season, it's just somewhere after season 4, in a nebulous AU in my mind where Chris and Melissa have dated and broken up (I'm really behind on the show guys, I mean really really behind, but I've seen spoilers).  
> It doesn't say, but the character is in her late 20s.  
> Like I said in the tags, I honestly have no idea what this is, I've been writing it on the bus and I've never written for this fandom before and thought I'd put it out into the world, so.  
> The title's based off of a song by Juliet Simms.   
> Let me know what you guys think.  
> (There might be more?)

She'd been awake for four days.

When they'd set out, Chris had told her it would only be one and a half days, teased her, called her a baby, said that she had no reason to complain when he was the one doing all of the driving.  
She didn't think Beacon Hills would be so bad.  
  
When the threat of serial killer of the supernatural sort became apparent, he told her that she didn't have to stay, that this was family business (he didn't mean to cut into her when he said it, honest, he didn't-- how was he supposed to know she considered him family?). She waved him off, nudged his ribs, asked what harm a few more hours without sleep could do. They smiled. They didn't think they'd get an answer, then.  
  
The nurse, the pretty one-- Melissa, she'd said her name was Melissa ("Scott's mom," Stiles had supplied, trying to be helpful, but only adding to the static) said that Cat had probably saved Chris, that the bullet had missed vital organs, that leaving it in was the best course of action at the time, not to blame herself for anything that had happened.  
  
Cat knew all of that. That wasn't what was keeping her up. What was keeping her up was how pale Chris looked under fluorescent light, how wane; sedated for his sake, the medication keeping him comfortably numb ("Better this way," the pretty nurse had told her, putting a calming hand on her shoulder-- how could she know Cat had heard the same from doctors that would later tell her that pulling the plug on her parents was the best option?).  
  
"It's best if you go home," that was the Sheriff, she remembered that. He had been kind, knowledgeable, thankful that she'd stayed even though it wasn't her fight.  
  
"Don't have one," Cat half-mumbled, words muffled by the way she'd propped her head up on her hand, watching Chris' face, unwavering.  
  
"You're more than welcome to stay at my house, for the time being. You really need to get some rest, Catherine."  
Catherine. That was how Chris always introduced her, addressed her around others. When they were alone, she was just Cat.  
She'd been imagining it the whole time: Chris' eyes would creek open to find Cat asleep in the chair at his bedside, her hand atop his where she'd foolishly left it before she knocked out. He'd give her hand a squeeze, wake her up, tease her. Or maybe he'd find her awake, as she had no real hope of falling asleep. His lips would curl into that stupid, easy smile, and he'd ask, _'What are you looking at, Cat?'_ the way he sometimes did when he caught her staring at him the car, as if he didn't know.  
She wasn't always subtle, especially when she was tired.  
  
"Deputy Parish'll drive you." And he did. Tried to make small talk a couple of times, too, bless him. Cat thanked him, and Stiles, who let her into the house, showed her where the bathroom was so she could shower, where she'd be able to sleep, and let her be. And she meant to sleep, honest.  
  
But she couldn't get that last look out her head.  
  
Sheriff Stilinski had stalled Parrish for a moment with a few last instructions for what he was meant to do when he had dropped her off, and Cat had turned back to look into the Chris' room.  
  
He was awake.  
  
_Awake._  
  
Blinking up at the pretty nurse, smiling, all slow, as she smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead.  
Cat shouldn't have looked back, that was mistake number one.  
She should've learned a long time ago not to look back.  
  
Well, mistake number one was probably falling for Chris Argent in the first place. That made looking back mistake number two.  
  
Had he been awake the entire time? Was he pretending to sleep just so she'd leave? Cat hadn't realized she'd been drifting back toward the door until Sheriff Stilinski called her name and stopped her in her tracks.  
  
  
She'd showered and changed (they'd brought her duffle bag in from Chris' car). She didn't take his car out. She had his keys, but wasn't sure she trusted herself to drive on so little sleep, and she sure as shit wouldn't trust herself to drive after what she planned to do. She'd googled the bars in town, found what she deemed to be the seediest one, called a cab to meet her at the end of the block. It wasn't her first rodeo. She'd snuck out plenty as a teen, back when she'd had reasons to sneak out.  
She didn't want Stiles reporting back to his dad that she'd vanished, not after the chaos of the last few days (or years, if what Chris had told her was anything to go by), so she'd left a note in her room, saying that she needed some air, was fine, and left her number at the bottom (she probably wouldn't answer if he called; it was just a formality).  
  
It was dark in the bar. She liked that. She liked how loud the music was, how it pushed her out of her own head, how she was jostled as she made her way through the throng to the bar for a drink. Her hair was still wet from the shower. Her jeans were a little on the tight side; her shirt was a tad loose, and low. She was being sized up. She knew the feeling. She shrugged it off, ordered a whiskey sour knowing it would be more whiskey than sour. A few people came up to her; she brushed them off. There was a man just on the edge of her field of vision. He was half-curled against the sea of people around him. She had seen him as soon as she came in, eyed the beginnings of a beard on him. He was older than the overall crowd, but not being watched closely by the bartenders. A regular, perhaps?  
  
He sidled up to her half an hour after she came in and offered to buy her a drink. She'd already had two. Between the alcohol and her lack of sleep, her filter was severely impaired. She gave him a good, long look, and said,  
  
"No, but I'll let you eat me out in the bathroom." He blinked down at her, surprised for a moment, clearly having expected a little more art to the conversation. He nodded, led her through the mess of mass and into a back hall. The bathrooms were as dingy as the bar.  
  
She was half out of her mind-- with exhaustion, upset, heartache-- as she pushed the man against the door. He laughed, but went with it, his hands finding her waist and tugging her closer as she nuzzled against his beard.  
  
"Got a name I can call ya, darling?"  
  
"No," she snapped, biting at his jaw. He groaned, tightening the grip on her as she slid her hands under his shirt. Their kissing was messy-- all teeth and fight. He clearly liked it rough and she wasn't in the mood to take it slowly or be gentle.

He went to his knees easily when she pushed him there, tugging the cups of her bra down under her shirt to get her fingers on her nipples as she undid her button and zip and wriggled the jeans down enough to get at her. He didn't say anything about her lack of underwear, just leaned in and went to work, sliding the tip of his tongue along her outer folds before bringing his fingers up to part her and lick her more thoroughly. She gripped at his hair, her free hand on the door as she began to pant.  
  
With her eyes closed, she could imagine it was Chris. The beard was close enough to the real thing, scratching along the insides of her thighs as she rocked against his face. She didn't need to look down to knew he'd undone his jeans and was getting himself off on it. She didn't care, as long as she got what she came for. She pressed down harder, tugging at his hair to urge him on, gasping as he sucked her clit. She barely managed to contain her groans, head tipped back, imagining Chris as she had so many times before.  
  
She came, but it didn't satisfy her.  
It never did.  
Though, this time it made her feel twice as dirty, knowing that Chris was laid up in a hospital bed.  
  
Cat left the bar through the back door, half-tripping down the alley, the neck of a knicked bottle of Jack Daniels clenched in her first, the weariness and heartbreak and whiskey catching up to her as she went.  
  
Sunrise found her at the Beacon Hills playground, on a swing, half of the bottle of Jack gone, eyes barely open. The Sheriff found her the same way an hour later, swinging a little, pushing herself with one foot, tears streaming out of her eyes, stale, alcoholic breaths puffing past her lips as she sniffled.  
  
He eyed the bottle first before he offered her his hand to get her to his cruiser. She fell asleep on the way to his house, and didn't remember mumbling, "Please don't tell him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to Beacon Hills puts Cat in a familiar but uncomfortable position. She finds herself forced to face her past as she struggles to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this story worth continuing? I don't know. Who knows. Not me. 
> 
> Not beta read.

"Hey, it's a cute town! We'll just stop for a coffee, come on!"

If it were possible for her auburn hair to stand on end, it would be. Beacon Hills did not hold fond memories for Catherine Rose King, but she appeased James when he begged, and parked the car outside of a small coffee shop. They'd be quick about it, it would be fine.    
And they were quick about it: two coffees, two croissants, back in the car.    
  
But he wanted to see the preserve.    
And Cat couldn't think of a good reason to say no.    
  
They wandered inside, in broad daylight, fingers intertwined. She had her shoulder holster on, as she always did, but it wasn’t making her feel safe. She was uneasy from the start, but she told herself that she was being irrational. She didn't even know if _he_ (god, she couldn't even bring herself to think his name) was in the area, let alone still in town. James, sensing how on edge she was, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple.    
  
"What's got you so worked up, huh?" He murmured, and she smiled a little, tipping her head up to look at him.  
  
"I'm not worked up."   
  
"You're lying, Cath." Cath, that was what he called her. He'd called her ‘Cat’ once, but she'd looked so pained by the nickname that he'd never done it again.  James looked around as they wandered deeper through the trees.    
  
"Pretty quiet out here," he remarked, "Odd for a Saturday afternoon, don't you think?"   
  
He was right. It was odd. Cat's fingers twitched, fighting the urge to reach for her gun.  She hummed, glancing around. She heard something rustle ahead of them, saw some branches shake without the aid of the wind.

"What?" He asked, looking down at her. She shushed him, looking around.    
  
"It's probably just a rabbit, Cath," James soothed.    
  
"I doubt it," Cat muttered when she heard a growl from not too far off. She pushed James behind her carefully, hand moving to the gun under her jacket. 

"What are you--" he started before another growl echoed across the clearing, closer this time. Cat looked at the bushes nearby, spotting a pair of glowing yellow eyes peering out at her. She pushed James back, said, "Run," and repeated it in a yell when he didn't. The werewolf leaped out at them and Catherine drew her gun, firing at it almost haphazardly, more an attempt to scare it off than hurt it. The werewolf was barely deterred, hardly slowed. Cat turned, pushing James on ahead of her.   
  
"Where--"   
  
"The car!" Cat snapped, pushing at his shoulder again. It was already bounding after them. Cat turned, taking aim at the monster and nailing it in the leg. It howled in pain, stumbling back before charging at them again. Cat stood her ground, knowing that she only had a couple of bullets left in the chamber. Before she could fire again, she was blinded by flashing lights. She raised her arm, squinting through the onslaught. She watched as the Were wheeled around, turning tail and whining as it ran away.   
  
While the attack itself had scared her, she was more afraid of what she would see as she turned to face the high hill. James was by her side seconds later, grabbing her arm asking if she was alright, what that thing was, but it all fell on deaf ears.   
  
Someone was coming down the hill toward them, half-shrouded in sunlight. She was hoping she was hallucinating.    
  
“Since when do you carry a gun?” James was asking.   
  
“She always carries a gun.” That voice. It was him. It had to be. The side of his mouth pulled upward in that stupid smirk as he neared them, “Don’t you, Cat?” James looked between him and Cat quickly.

“You know— Who is thi— Who are you?”   
  
Chris and Cat hadn’t taken their eyes off one another. Cat was sure she looked stunned; Chris’ face looked oddly soft.

“What the hell was that?” She asked quietly.   
  
“Scott took in a stray beta. Good kid, but he doesn’t know how to control his shift yet. You’re welcome, by the way.”   
  
“I had it handled,” Cat snapped, “And maybe Scott should keep him on a shorter leash until he learns proper control.”   
  
“You didn’t have to shoot at him— “   
  
“How the hell was I was supposed to know he wasn’t hostile?!”   
  
“What the hell is going on?” James whined. Chris looked over at James before his darted back to Cat.   
  
“He’s not a hunter?”   
  
“Would you stop talking about him like he’s not even here?” Chris shrugged.   
  
“I will when you will.” She wanted to punch him.   
  
“Don’t be a shit, Argent.”   
  
“ _Argent_?” James cut in again, frowning. Chris turned to look at him interestedly.   
  
“She talk about me much?”   
  
“We’re leaving,” Cat said firmly, “Right now. We are leaving right now.” She turned around, taking hold of James’ hand and beginning to lead him away.   
  
“You’re just going to run away again?” That made her stop. She turned back to look at Chris, mouth set in a thin line.   
  
“You don’t need me around, Chris. Never did.”   
  
  
The car wouldn’t start.   
  
The car wouldn’t start, and James wouldn’t stop asking questions. Cat couldn’t blame him for that; learning that there’s more to the natural world than you originally thought could be terrifying, especially if your first encounter involved a werewolf and learning that your girlfriend carried a gun on a regular basis. Not that this was an easy day for Cat, either. She hit the wheel of the car hard with the palm of her hand, letting out a short, frustrated yell as it failed to start up. She could feel James watching at her.   
  
“Why did we have to stop here,” She muttered.   
  
“You’re blaming me?” James frowned. Cat scoffed.   
  
“Not blaming, just, of all the damn towns—“   
  
“You know, if you’d told me you didn’t want to stop here, we wouldn’t have stopped here.”   
  
“I did, three times, but you kept insisting it was cute. And what would I have said to you? ‘Sorry, James, not this   
one, this town’s got a few werewolves and ex-hunters I’m not all that fond of seeing’?”   
  
“Werewolves?” James repeated slowly, “That thing… It was an animal.”   
  
“Weres don’t like being referred to as animals,” Cat informed him lightly. James opened his mouth to ask another question but was cut off by a knock on his window. They turned their heads to see Chris Argent there, smiling.   
  
"Need a hand?”   
  
Cat leaned back, slouching down in her seat.


End file.
